


forever is in your eyes

by lilaclavenders



Series: bloom [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Episode 11, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Some angst?, Young Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilaclavenders/pseuds/lilaclavenders
Summary: “Yuuri?” Viktor calls out from the side of the rink, his concern immediately garnering everyone else's attention. “Are you okay? You’ve been skating figures for about 5 minutes now.”Yuuri speeds up and gives an exaggerated shrug in response (since Viktor’s too far away for him to properly see or hear and Yuuri assumes he’s in a similar situation) before launching himself into a triple flip. He endearingly scrunches his nose at the way Viktor cheers when Yuuri lands.Yuuri's been thinking for a while and finally reaches the same conclusion Viktor's had for a long time.





	forever is in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hello! once again, i have cried over troye sivan's bloom!!!!! here is the result!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> song title taken from: what a heavenly way to die - troye sivan

 

 

 

 

> because forever is in your eyes,
> 
> but forever ain’t half the time i wanna spend with you
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
>  

Yuuri’s never been one to tour around places, especially during competitions. However, as of late, competing for Viktor’s time had never been much of a difficulty for him; Yuuri’s spent so much time with Viktor that he can no longer be considered a tourist or visitor.

But it’s different now. 

Yuuri’s having a hard time discerning whether he’s done enough (or if he’s enough) to become a permanent resident, glued to Viktor’s side at all times. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls out from the side of the rink, his concern immediately garnering everyone else's attention. “Are you okay? You’ve been skating figures for about 5 minutes now.” 

Yuuri speeds up and gives an exaggerated shrug in response (since Viktor’s too far away for him to properly see or hear and Yuuri assumes he’s in a similar situation) before launching himself into a triple flip. He endearingly scrunches his nose at the way Viktor cheers when Yuuri lands. The other rink occupants resume their activities, snickering in their direction.

Yuuri ignores them, he thinks they’re laughing at him, at the fact he replied to Viktor in the form of a flip. How terribly _cliché_. He skates towards his coach, the sound of his skates on the ice becoming louder than the sounds of Yuri Plisetsky’s fake retching and the ignominy of it all.

“That was _wonderful_ ,” Viktor breathes out, resting his head onto his hand in the way a schoolgirl does when greeted with the love of her life. It’s funny, the way the rink lighting is unflattering on everyone but Viktor - it’s one of the fundamental truths: Viktor can never look ugly. (Even if your older sister tries to deface posters of him.)

There’s a text from Chris on Viktor’s phone:

_You two are such a married couple that you don’t even need rings._

Yuuri hums, unconvinced - Viktor’s definitely biased and likes having excuses to embarrass his only student as much as possible. Chris, like Phichit, loves a bit of a scandal. “We should go sight-seeing,” Yuuri proclaims, instead of directly acknowledging and challenging Viktor’s latest critique (and questionable friend choices.)

Viktor does that thing where he puts his finger on his lips; this time he’s amused. As if he isn’t already making a mental list of all the places he wants to ransack with his avid enthusiasm, he asks. “Is that a good idea?” 

Viktor knows how to speak in a multitude of languages, weaving different sentence structures and idioms around in such a poetic way that it seems as if he's created a new language entirely. Sometimes, when Viktor asks a simple question, it often means he's asking Yuuri something else entirely.

(Perhaps if it's to do with whether Yuuri finally thinks he's good enough to win, whether he's good enough to be around Viktor.)

“ _Really?_ ” Yuuri raises an eyebrow. He crosses his arms in defiance, as if Viktor wasn’t already wrapped around his finger. He goads, “You’re only starting to be a good coach now?” He thinks back to China, where Viktor was too impatient to apologise properly and decided to kiss Yuuri anyway. He may be the best skater in the world, but he is far from the best coach. Perhaps decades of not listening to Yakov had a detrimental effect on Viktor's coaching skills (or lack thereof.)

“I see your point, darling, consistency is key,” Viktor agrees, holding his hand out for Yuuri, even though he is more than capable of getting out of the rink himself. Maybe it’s because there’s a magnet in Yuuri’s hands that Viktor seems to find himself latched onto them whenever he’s nearby. 

“I thought everything was supposed to a surprise, Vitya,” Yuuri retorts, even though his hand wraps around comfortably Viktor’s. Then, he kisses Viktor's cheek before dragging him from the rink side.

“Well,” Viktor, stunned, replies. His voice has a dazed quality that only comes with a daydream. “That too.”

 

* * *

 

The sky’s turning a particular, familiar shade of purple; where Yuuri recognises it from rests on the tip of his tongue. Perhaps he’ll remember later.

They’ve walked all around the city today, as Viktor waltzed into shops as if they were old friends of his. If Makkachin hadn’t been considered to be Viktor’s dearest companion, Yuuri would’ve guessed Viktor’s wallet next, a black suede thing with the letters **_VN_** engraved in gold on the front, a puzzling thing that seemed to be cut out of the same cloth as Mary Poppins’ bag, which streamed an endless supply of money.

Yuuri knows, he read about it on a tumblr post Phichit sent him a few years ago.

“Such a shame. If only the Euro was weaker, I could’ve bought you a lot more!” Viktor’s as chirpy as he was earlier in the afternoon, which is a given since Yuuri’s holding the majority of the shopping. 

Yuuri grimaces at the 3 Chanel bags in his left hand alone and huffs as he collapses onto a bench. “You’ve bought me more clothes than I’ve bought myself in the past 5 years.”

Viktor gasps, “But we haven’t even gone onto skincare or accessories yet! Think of all the not ugly ties you could wear, darling!” 

“That blue tie cost less than the meal you bought earlier,” Yuuri teasingly sing-songs, a particularly sweet habit he’s accidentally picked up from Viktor.

“My meal was €35,” Viktor says, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He reads his receipt to double check, pulling out the mythical beast of a wallet once more as if he were wielding a sword.

Yuuri blinks back, widening his smirk; he’s desperately trying not to laugh at this point. The lamp posts flicker on.

Viktor bravely continues, lowering his voice, “€23 without the drink.”

Yuuri meets his eyes, raising a singular brow. He then looks around suspiciously, as if he were revealing a grand secret. “Try $10.”

Viktor winces, squeezing his eyes shut in utter anguish. Yuuri is reminded of an opera he had watched with Minako a few years ago. Viktor places his hands on his face, as if he were recreating the Scream. He wails in a falsetto, “ _Darling!_ ” He wipes a fake tear. “Even Makkachin’s breakfast isn’t that cheap!”

Yuuri tiredly laughs, as each peal of laughter is soft and worn. Nonetheless, he’s deeply smitten with this man, who’s just as materialistic as the magazines said. That being said, that seems to be where most of the resemblance stops. _Did they ever question why he craved nothing but the best?_ “Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to buy me new ties.”

“I’m ordering some right now.” Viktor rapidly whips out his phone and furiously taps away, mumbling about different shades of colours Yuuri didn’t know existed. “Should we get them delivered to the hotel in time for the... banquet?”

Yuuri misses the way Viktor's eyebrows waggle on the word _banquet_. Instead, he takes this moment to shriek about the untimely loss of a bag of luxury caramelised nuts. 

 

* * *

 

The sky has reached its final destination: a rich navy, decorated with little specks of constellations and wisps of silvery clouds, all illuminated by the moon. Yuuri and Viktor are fatigued and have lost both their patience and a bag of expensive nuts. 

“This isn’t about the nuts, is it?” Viktor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He looks different from Yuuri's posters, with his red and cheeks a bit red and under eyes a little grey. It's terribly endearing.

A year away from the podium and spotlight has given Viktor a chance to function like a regular human once more. Well, by his standards - he has yet to figure out how Yuuri’s face has never fought the battles of acne, wrinkles and the overproduction of sebum, remaining unscathed.

Sure, it’s not that different, giving a plant artificial light, yet nothing truly beats sunlight - Viktor’s only starting to welcome back the freckles he’d get as a pre-teen, letting his feet grow acclimated back to the ground after being so far up the podium all these years, walking better on ice than anything else. That in itself is more growth than the journey of getting complacent with getting first place every single year.

Yuuri irritably huffs, in lieu of crossing his arms, since his hands are still full of shopping bags. “I’m hungry.”

In other words, Yuuri is too stubborn to let Viktor know the real reason behind why he's upset. However, Yuuri doesn't enjoy lying, and has to sacrifice some of his pride to indulge smug, smug Viktor. (Just a little bit.)

“Mhm,” Viktor replies, his arm still looped around Yuuri’s. “Water is wet.”

Yuuri isn’t really _really_ upset, not really. He’s just annoyed at how little time he seems to have left with Viktor. Tourists are tourists for a reason, with a purpose to go to different places because they want to see, not stay. The Genie only gave Aladdin 3 wishes, Cinderella only had until midnight and basically, Yuuri had a few days left to come clean about his own desires. It's very Yuuri to project his feelings onto real life events, such as a missing bag of nuts or Viktor's inexorable arrival back to the skating world.

Yuuri knows that Viktor knows Yuuri’s in love with him, and vice versa. But apart from that, they haven’t really talked about what they were going to do about it in the future; Yuuri knows Viktor's always a 'live in the moment' type of person. After all, Viktor gave _Agape_  to Yuri and _Eros_ to Yuuri after all. Since Viktor’s strengths will never lie within subtlety, Yuuri assumes that the oddly specific  _Eros_ storyline has already come into fruition and that there might be an expiry date on all of _this_. 

Whatever they are, two 20-somethings who seem to gravitate towards each other whenever they're in the same room. (Yuuri wonders what Viktor would've been like had he met him a decade earlier, if Viktor could've had his chance of happiness a little sooner.)

Rostelecom was a different experience, because they'd come back to each other - they had to. This time, there won’t be any further obligations for Viktor to fulfil. That’s always been a worrying thought, Viktor leaving as quickly as he’d arrived, as if he were a magician and he’s finishing up his final act. A good magician never reveals their secrets and never leaves evidence of being there at all.

Viktor wordlessly drags Yuuri along to the Christmas market, letting him get lost within his thoughts while he picks some food from some pretentious looking vegan stall. 

Yuuri doesn’t want to force Viktor to stay, but with anything else he’s ever done, it’s either you try or you don’t and regardless of the result, you’ll cry. He’s read about Samson and Delilah, and even though Viktor cut his hair long ago, Yuuri doesn’t want to be selfish. He knows about Odysseus, Heracles and Pysche, their long journeys to get a semblance of normalcy, life and love back; one taste of heaven and suddenly it's ripped away from you. It’s fate, written amongst the stars; Viktor’s definitely something like one of them, shooting across the galaxies. Viktor's so beautiful that he has to come with a warning sign. It's like how Hiroko warned Yuuri about the thorns on roses, which still hurt even if your intentions are pure or how Minako warned Yuuri about the more versed one became in the art of ballet, the more versed your feet will become in the art of blood and bruises. 

But shooting stars aren’t really stars, and Viktor’s just as human as he’s ever been, unable to fly or walk on water. Aren’t humans supposed to have free will, so that has to count for something, right?

You can't make gods out of humans. Gods are supposed to be loving to all, the answers to everything, perfect- It's times like this where Yuuri's glad Viktor's a bit selfish, forgetful and vain.

 _Oh_ , Yuuri realises, making his decision from his own free will. He isn't a god, but he can create his own ending.

Whilst Viktor queues impatiently at the pretentious vegan stall; Yuuri runs off. “Look after the bags a second, Vitya?”

Before Viktor has a chance to respond, Yuuri’s already halfway across the marketplace with Viktor’s scarf half-wrapped around his neck, trailing like the tail end of a comet. Perhaps he might lose Viktor to the ice, but Yuuri could try and keep him close to his heart.

Viktor groans, carefully organising the array of shopping bags in his arms. He melodramatically wails, “You didn’t even tell me what you wanted to eat!”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri picks out something gold, as cliché as it is. It’s not a secret that Viktor’s always had a penchant for gold. Knowing Viktor has his whole gimmick for surprises, Yuuri's realised that he's very sentimental and attached. There's a reason for everything he does and says, regardless of how erratic it may be. For example, there’s a gold tooth cap in the back of his mouth somewhere, which appeared after his first attempt at a quad flip. He’s never read about it on any magazine article or online thread, so he finds it all the more precious.

He was 12 years old and only had a silver medal from his first major competition.

( _“You get a gold for effort, Vitya, Yakov said and- I took it seriously,” Viktor says shamefully._

_“Yeah, I can't imagine him saying that with a smile.”_

_“Neither can I,” Viktor replies, chuckling._ )

There had to be something else, a reason why gold was so essential to Viktor's entire being; the whole charade of him being solely materialistic doesn't seem so fitting anymore. 

“Huh,” the cashier, a young Spanish woman with dark under eyes and bushy eyebrows says. Her voice is a little raspy, which makes Yuuri think of his own sister. The top button of her blouse is undone and she has a gap in her teeth. “You’re skating tomorrow, right?”

Yuuri laughs nervously. “Yeah,” he replies, fumbling for his wallet, which hasn’t got his initials engraved or an endless supply of money. 

“Good luck,” she replies, smiling kindly. She has the same mischievous glint in her eyes as Viktor, which is a little comforting. 

Yuuri bashfully replies, “Thanks, the free skate’s tomorrow so-“

The cashier laughs, “No, _silly_!” She gestures at the ring, winking. 

“Oh,” Yuuri says, a bit winded.

Rings signify eternity, love and a promise, or something. Yuuri heard that at a wedding he attended when he was 12, when his father got drunk enough to gain the gift of seeing multiple versions of Hiroko. This means everything he’s feeling, thinking and fearful of will soon come out in the open and he’s _terrified_. 

What promise could possibly make Viktor, who has his head far up into the clouds, want to stay? He’s human, all humans have their own wants, needs and curiosities. What could Yuuri give him that Viktor doesn’t already have?

Yuuri knows there’s a striking chord of dissonance between the Viktor he knows and the one the rest of the world knows. Had Viktor be born in a warmer place, where the ice needn't stay for very long, he could've been an actor - he's very good at playing the roles he's been given. 

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing the box and hurriedly scuttling away from the shop. 

“Maya!” An older woman, with the same eyes and eyebrows as Yuuri’s cashier, shouts. “Stop making the customers feel uncomfortable!”

“But he’s Yuuri Katsuki, one of the best skaters in the world, Mama! And he’s going to ask his boyfriend to _marry_ him!” Maya gushes, squealing on the word _marry._

Yuuri Katsuki, apparently one of the best skaters in the world, pockets the ring as he briskly walks back to the pretentious vegan stall, tapping his left leg pocket whilst staring at Viktor, the best skater in the world, who’s holding two paprika and butternut squash soups. “Hi,” the former squeaks.

“Hi,” Viktor says, curious. “You spent a while in there. What did you get?”

_What did you get? Did you finally realise you're good enough?_

“Did I spend a while in there?” Yuuri nervously replies, graciously grabbing a soup from Viktor’s hand.  Avoiding the real question was a game both of them could play well in different ways. (Viktor usually answered the question he wanted to hear and Yuuri flat out ignores it.) 

“Mhm,” Viktor replies, curious. He sips his soup daintily, blowing on it with each mouthful he has. “Well, you hadn’t bought anything all day, so I guess it’s... _payback_.”

Yuuri snorts into his own soup, forgetting why he was nervous in the first place. “That was terrible, Vitya.”

“But you laughed, so I’ll take that,” Viktor responds, winking. He’s always had a knack at charming people, making them feel comfortable around them. Perhaps that's why so many people love him, because he's willing to play the role they want him to. You can't make gods out of humans, so Viktor's the next best thing. 

“There’s one more place I want to go,” Viktor begins bashfully. A different form of self-perseverance, called humility, is something he's picked up from Yuuri. “If you don’t mind?”

Yuuri watches the way Viktor smiles fondly, staring into the sky. There’s a bit of soup on the corner of his lip; Yuuri takes it off with his thumb.

“Could we drop all these bags off back at the hotel first?”

 

* * *

 

Barcelona was one of the first places Viktor had visited outside of Russia, and the city soon became a recurring location for his escapades. He was 12 years old and took his Grandmother to his first international competition, only to win silver. 

However, the first time he had ever visited the _Sagrada Familia_ was with his Grandmother, a devout French Catholic woman who married his Grandfather with her heart in the wrong place.

_“Mamie,” 12 year old Vitya whines, twirling his hair. His Grandmother had bribed him with the promise of shopping only to have brought him to a cathedral. “Why are we here?”_

_Mamie Aurelia was the one who gifted Viktor and his mother with their silver hair, and had pale grey eyes that reminded Viktor of skies before it snowed. Her eyebrows were arched and always seemed to question everything life had to offer her._

_“Because it’s Sunday,” Aurelia replies, her voice a deep velvety tone that only comes with age. “Also, I need to talk to an old friend.”_

_Viktor’s heard many tales of a girl named Natalya Viktorovskaya, who danced for the Bolshoi and into little Aurelia Durand’s arms._

_Tasha, Mamie would call her, had the eyes of an ocean that belonged to summer and a way with words that had to stolen from the Muses themselves. Her skin was dotted with the most marvelous freckles that sprung up like daisies in spring. Mamie had told Viktor about many myths and legends, having had a tutor that specialised in classics, and Tasha sounded just like them. A girl who could dance without the need for any music and taught her that kisses aren't only for children's foreheads and husbands’ cheeks._

_They met when Aurelia just turned 24, while her mother took her to Leningrad, years and years before it was ever named St. Petersburg, because her mother had the finest silks in Europe the Bolshoi could afford. She’s always liked ballet, but that’s probably because her mother’s told her to._

_But, Mamie said to Viktor, I’ve always loved La Bayadère. She's always loved it in such a strange way: with tears in her eyes and a tremble in her lip, clouding her voice as she recounts the tale._

_The story of a nobleman who loved a temple dancer, or something like that. The way she talks about its 4 acts always begins with a fond reverence, gushing about the different colours Nikiya wore and the way Solor declared his eternal love for her. She never quite got past trying to recount the first two acts, her memory apparently playing up by the time she reaches Solor’s wedding, because was it an asp? Or a cobra? Her voice always trails off into a fragile confusion and tears start to form in the corners of eyes, smudging the kohl in her waterline._

_Either way, Viktor realised, it didn’t matter because Nikiya still died and Mamie didn’t want to tell 12 year old Vitya that._

_Sometimes noblemen can be daughters of famous seamstresses or the loneliest ice skater the world has ever seen; temple dancers can be clumsy ballerinas or the most beautiful man Vitya’s ever seen and the a poisonous snake could very well be ignorance or depression and anxiety._

_Viktor watches the way Mamie would light a candle the way she would say 'hello', with a small look of surprise, which warms into a smile. There's always kohl stained tears sliding down her rouged cheeks - and yet the flickering flame would shine on. “One day the world won’t be so hard on people like me," She strokes his hair. "Like you.”_

_Mamie looks at the two rings on her finger: one is a silver band, which is so shiny that Viktor can see the way his own reflection blinks back, and the other is a gold band that’s a little too big and has a few scuff marks around the edges. Viktor can't see his own reflection in the gold one. Mamie always said best doesn't always mean perfect._

_“Don’t ever settle for less, even if you have to take risks. The world is too selfish to give you the answer immediately.” Aurelia firmly tells him after they walk out of the Sagrada Familia. “And when you finally have what you want, do not let it go.”_

_“Mamie,” he replies, hushed as he could possibly be in a religious building. “Did you let her go?” Did you love her?_

_Aurelia nods shakily, gripping Viktor’s hand tightly. “Do you know the story of La Bayadère?”_

_Viktor shakes his head as if Mamie hadn’t told him last night, watching her closely as she adds new details or finds new ways of describing the same girl she had fallen in love with all those years ago._

Eventually, Viktor figures it out. His Grandfather was not always a kindred spirit. But the way he loved Mamie was genuine, which only makes things complicated. Mikhail Nikiforov was just a man of his time: jealous and ignorant. He just happened to have fallen in love with a french woman whose mother made dresses. Jealousy and ignorance were never forgiving to his victims, leaving Nikiya without a ballerina to step in her shoes and a seamstress's daughter with nothing but a tattered ring. Aurelia eventually learns to live with jealousy and ignorance, really - but it’s not the same.

 

* * *

 

“Here we are,” Viktor breathes, as if he was surprised to find himself outside the church. “I haven’t been here for over a decade.”

Yuuri watches Viktor and the way his eyes painfully flit around the entrance of the building. “Don’t you visit Barcelona a lot? For competitions and stuff?”

Viktor nods, gripping Yuuri’s hand tighter. “Mamie took me here once, before she passed away. It wouldn’t have felt the same without her.”

Yuuri’s other hand releases the box in his pocket. Instead, he reaches out for Viktor’s shoulder, concerned. “Do you want to talk about her?”

Viktor laughs shakily, shrugging in response. “Mamie reminds me of you, sometimes. She was a conscientious person, though this made her _very_ stubborn, especially when it came to me.”

“Really?” Yuuri raises his eyebrows, amazed.

Viktor snorts, “I did say you remind me of her, why are you surprised?”

“Touché,” Yuuri replies, bumping shoulders with Viktor in jest. He catches him smiling from his peripheral vision.

“Mamie’s mother was a seamstress, making costumes for the Bolshoi. Mamie and her mother, my Great-Grandmother Lorraine, travelled with all the ballerinas across Europe, fixing their costumes. Barcelona was her favourite city.”

“Why was it her favourite?”

Viktor smiles wistfully, letting his shoulders sag. “It was her favourite because it was where she realised she fell in love.”

“With your Grandfather?”

“No,” Viktor replies. “With the love of her life.”

Yuuri pauses, the implication of Viktor’s words sinking in.

“Darling,” Viktor lightly asks. “Are you familiar with _La Bayadère_?” 

Yuuri nods. “Minako performed in a production of it once. She was Nikiya the year after she got her _Benois de la Danse._ How come?”

"It was her favourite," Viktor says, plain and simple. 

Yuuri yearns for the day where he will understand all the meanings behind Viktor's words, _if_ he gets there.

There’s a bunch of high school kids singing hymns nearby and Yuuri feels like he’s in some myth that’s in the process of being written. Angelic choirs usually meant there was some divine presence nearby, and perhaps there was. 

"Why are you frowning, darling? What are you thinking about?"

Yuuri inhales and exhales about 6 times before his legs move for him, dragging himself and Viktor into the light with both hands.

“Well,” Yuuri begins. “I’ve been thinking for the past few months.”

Viktor nods seriously, ignoring the way Yuuri’s hands shake in his. His eyes are a little bit red and watery from unshed tears, but Yuuri’s sure he’ll start properly crying in a moment. Only now does Yuuri realise Viktor could possibly want to stay with him. 

“I am terrified, but my fear of you never hearing this will turn into a lifelong regret, and that’ll probably be worse in the long term and then it’ll just be really-“

Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hands, nodding. “ _Breathe, darling_. You have my _all_ of my time and attention.”

Yuuri's breath hitches in disbelief. “Do I?”

Viktor frowns a little bit as he aggressively nods. He firmly says, “Of course you do, you’re not just my student. I am very much in love with you, if you can’t remember.” (Yuuri forgets how blunt he is - it's refreshing.)

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri replies, blinking a few times to register Viktor’s response. He starts to unpeel Viktor’s glove, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he does so. “Right, so, I just wanted to tell you exactly what I feel.”

At this point, Viktor’s eyes are trained onto Yuuri’s and he’s biting his lip, urging for him to continue.

“I just wanted to thank you. I know you haven’t know me for as long as I’ve known you, but thank you for inspiring me.” He pulls out the box from his pocket, takes a deep breath and continues. “I’ve gained confidence and love for a sport that’s given me so many opportunities and experiences I never thought I’d have.”

“That’s all you, darling,” Viktor murmurs. “I can only inspire, not give you your talents.”

“But you pushed me to do it all! I saw this beautiful boy, skating his heart out and- I thought-  _God_ , wouldn’t I love to be as beautiful as him one day? Which is silly because you’re _you_ and I’m _me_ -“ Viktor shakes his head in disagreement, huffing. “Anyway, what I want to say is, thank you for inspiring me for most of my life.”

Viktor softly laughs, watching as Yuuri fumbles open the box; Viktor gasps in utter delight, his smile growing bigger as Yuuri slips the ring onto his finger. It's gold and it shines.

“And I want to thank you, not only for inspiring me, but for loving me when I didn’t see myself as worth loving. I’m forgetting what it was like to find myself unworthy of my achievements, of all of this- of you. Because you told me yourself, you deserve only the best, right? And I’m not the same person I was a year ago, thanks to you. I want to be like this forever.”

“Yuuri, _darling_.” Viktor leans in closer, letting his foreheads touch Yuuri’s. “Is this it? Forever? Is that what _you_ want?”

“You have no idea how much you’ve done for me,” Yuuri graciously replies. “I know it annoys you that I rarely say the things I want and even then, I don’t even ask for much, but this is the one thing I want.”

Viktor raises a well groomed brow. He tries to steel himself up, but fails. “As your coach, I’m going to ask: what about your gold medal?”

Yuuri snorts, leaning back in laughter. “Who cares about that? I’m in Barcelona with the most beautiful, smart and talented man and I want to marry him.”

“What a coincidence,” Viktor replies. “Because I’m doing the exact same thing.” He pulls out a gold ring from his own pocket, the final prop needed for his final act.

“ _Vitya_ ,” Yuuri hisses, his breath knocked out of his lungs. “ _Are you serious_?”

Here’s the thing, Viktor’s a born performer, with a script in his mind and an innate sense for his best angles. But he’s suddenly had to change plans because he’s terribly in love and his nose is definitely scarlet from the cold weather and crying. So he’s just winging it, trying to be honest and play the role Yuuri’s given him: to play  _himself._

Who is that? 20 years of trying to mold himself into everyone else's expectations, there hasn't been a moment where he could breathe with his own lungs.

“Mamie gave me this ring ten years ago,” Viktor says, his voice a passionate crescendo. “She said the love of her life gave it to her here, in 1952. Now I’m giving it to the love of mine.”

The ring, which was a little too big for Mamie’s thin, delicate finger, fits better on Yuuri’s. It’s not as shiny as the one Yuuri bought him, but for some reason, Yuuri admires it with the same gaze he gives Viktor when he thinks he can’t see him. (Yuuri, Viktor knows, also forgets that not everyone wears glasses and _can_ see without them.)

“The world is an unforgiving place, she told me. It wouldn’t be so kind to immediately give me the answers to my questions. She told me I deserved nothing but the best- but I never really knew what she meant by that. All my life was spent trying to figure it out, racking up records and medals, because those were the best things in the skating world.”

Yuuri asks, “But your Grandmother, she wasn’t a skater.”

“No, she wasn't” Viktor replied. “Which is why I eventually realised that she was talking about life and love.”

“And not medals, fancy clothes and elaborate skincare routines?” Yuuri’s attempt to joke is only overshadowed by the fact his lip keeps on jutting out and his eyes are full to the brim with tears.

Viktor chuckles, his shoulders bouncing with the excitement of the prospect of spending an eternity with Yuuri. “No, Yuuri. I’m talking about _you_. You are the answer I’ve been looking for. Do you get it now? I've been waiting for you to see it!”

It’s as if all the stars are falling from the sky and moonlight’s starting to spill everywhere because _Viktor Nikiforov wants to marry Yuuri Katsuki._

“Oh _god_ ,” Yuuri blubbers, clutching his chest, which swirls in a non-panicky way for once. “I can’t believe this is happening. You really want to marry me?” He mumbles incoherently, in the midst of his sniffles and hiccuping, “I swear I had a dream about this once.”

Viktor nods, embracing Yuuri. He earnestly says, “I was serious, back then, when you came back from the Rostelecom cup. I know I’m terrible with keeping promises, but this is something more than that.”

Yuuri's whispering now, in case it all goes wrong. “Vitya, you want to marry me?”

But it doesn't.

“Yes, darling.”

“Okay,” Yuuri replies, his eyes flitting from Viktor to his ring and back to his fiancé. “Are you _absolutely_ sure?”

“Yes,” Viktor responds. 

“Really?”

Suddenly Viktor’s peppering kisses all over Yuuri’s face, melting away any doubts about this decision. The final act was never Viktor leaving Yuuri, it was Viktor leaving his old life behind for something gold and something new (With Yuuri.) 

**Author's Note:**

> if you want me to do a separate thing for aurelia and tasha, then i can? maybe?
> 
> also imagine aurelia in fancy schmancy floral dresses and floppy hats. 12 year old vitya probably wore some turtlenecks and tied his hair back - he is also wearing some of mamie's rouge.
> 
> mamie is a way of saying grandmother in french, since aurelia is french? and i felt like vitya would've called her that and also learned all the french (well most) of the french he knows today.
> 
> thank you for reading :) i usually get the most interaction from stuff that's taken from canon as opposed to aus or smth? wild


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